by Kristin Cast
“Citizen 1782445, your reassignment has been updated.” The computer whirred and an arrow appeared on screen, pointing to a narrow strip of paper poking out from under the monitor. “Please take your printed reassignment update. Have a pleasant day.”
Aiden pulled the paper free and read aloud. “Reassigned. Report to basement level room forty-four at 0930.” He glanced up at the screen. “Reassigned to what? There’s nothing even halfway decent down in the basement.”
The arrow flashed in response.
“Great. Thanks a lot.” Aiden nearly ripped the flimsy door off its ancient sliders as he shouldered his way through the tight opening. He clomped toward the elevator, his boots still leaving a trail of dirt behind him.
This morning was turning to shit.
But at least he hadn’t walked into a door.
VI
Elodie arrived at the Long-Term Care Unit breathless, at exactly 0930. Precisely on time. Although, to Elodie, who was habitually ten minutes early, being on time felt unnervingly close to being late.
And like every day he was scheduled to work before her, Gus sat ready and waiting, his back to the door. “Almost, Elodie. Al-most.” Gus waggled his finger at the clock glowing down at them from the corner of the holoscreen that monitored their patients. From the back, Gus looked sharp in his maroon Key Corp LTCU scrubs with his shaggy hair and lanky, unassuming figure, but when he turned around—
“You’re wet.” Confusion creased Gus’s bushy, dandruff-
flecked brow.
Elodie pulled her towel-dried waves into a tight bun and smiled politely. “Yeah, I showered.” Sure, Westfall citizens opted for light baths instead of the water showers of the past, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t take a real shower. There wouldn’t have been one in her house if it was against the rules. “Are you planning on giving me an update before you head out?”
“Don’t I always?” Gus pursed his thin lips, instantly transforming back into the impatient employee who treated every workday like it was the worst day of his life. But how could it be? This is what the Key chose for him, for both of them. And it wasn’t an idea the corporation plucked out of thin air. No, the Key had taken their time. And Gus and Elodie and everyone else in Westfall and cities around the globe had done their part and taken the series of tests to determine not only what would make them happiest, but also what they would excel at. The Key had done an impeccable job placing them (not that Elodie would ever think that the Key would do anything less). Elodie was happy. Her parents were happy. Her friends were happy. Gus . . .
“I already did a Violet Shield once-over on the Control Center.” Gus brushed his hand through his dishwater brown hair. Specks of dandruff leapt from his scalp, adding to the light dusting on his shoulders. “Oh, and there was a transfer last night.” He motioned to the final patient care chart in the line of five that glowed paper-white on the holoscreen. “Don’t know what her deal is, so you might want to run the shield again soon, just to be on the safe side.”
Elodie’s gaze scanned the row of patient care chart thumbnails. “A new patient? I thought we were full.”
“We were.” The bruise-purple rings around Gus’s eyes seemed to swallow them as he squinted. Too many hours spent in VR. “Then they sent one out to the MediCenter in Zone Two, the lesser MediCenter, and brought this one from . . .” He hiked his shoulders. “I don’t know. Somewhere else.”
Elodie’s hands tightened into fists. “This one, that one. You’re a step away from referring to them as things instead of people.”
He further rounded his slumped shoulders with a shrug. “They’re in medically induced comas until they either get put down or get better. Bots take care of them—”
“We take care of them!” she said. Gus’s slack-jawed expression mirrored the shock tingling through Elodie’s limbs. It wasn’t technically an outburst, but it was definitely more bursty than anything Elodie normally said.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, fine. You’re right. We take care of ’em.”
Elodie let out a puff of air. She needed to get herself under control. “Who brought the patient from where?”
“Hell, Elodie, I don’t know. I just run the Violet Shield and make sure none of the pumps malfunction and no dumb bots get stuck in doorways. I’m not in charge of intake. That’s your job.”
It was times like these when Elodie wished she had Vi’s covert assassin abilities. “Well, since it is part of your job, did you make sure all of the treatment pumps are full enough to get me through the day?”
“Yeah, yeah. I did everything I’m supposed to do. It was a busy night, but I’m not stupid.” He rubbed the small diagonal scar behind his right ear and stared blankly at the empty space above Elodie’s head.
Automatically, she rubbed the matching scar behind her own ear. The bump from the implant had faded long ago. A small strip of smooth skin was the only outward evidence of the tech that had been injected under her scalp shortly after birth, same as every other citizen. The implant had grown up with her, grown into her, learned with her. It made her, and everyone else’s, life so much easier. Although Gus’s habit of touching the implant point every time he checked his schedule, mail, or a plethora of other things Elodie was thankful she couldn’t see, was a constant and obnoxious reminder that he wasn’t paying her any attention.
He let out an exasperated breath “I have VR surf lessons scheduled in exactly thirty minutes, so I’m out of here.” He jogged to the elevator and waved his cuff under the reader. It beeped, beeped, and beeped again as Gus flapped his arm under the beam of light.
“You only need to scan it one time,” Elodie muttered.
Gus tapped his foot against the tile. “Unlike some people, I have a life outside of work that I’m ready to get to.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I happen to like my job.” Elodie spun around as the elevator doors swallowed her coworker. “Damn.” She dropped into the hard plastic chair in front of the control panel and quickly scanned the steadily blinking peaks and valleys of the new Patient Ninety-Two’s heartrate monitor before she hefted her backpack onto her lap and unzipped the center pouch.
“I do too have a life outside of work.” The neon lights of the holoscreen glimmered off the slick cover of her nursing textbook. “Actually, I have lots of lives outside of work.”
VII
Blair felt eyes on her as she stood outside of Cath’s office. She pulled her fingers away from her mouth and clenched her teeth. Her adoptive mother had an open-door policy, but it was controlled by the slowest woman Blair had ever had the displeasure of dealing with. And the ninth floor was not a place where Blair wanted to be stuck. The entire space was filled with clear partitions, giving the regular working masses the illusion of having their own office. But a true office wasn’t a glass box, it was a room made of solid walls that deflected unwanted glances. It was a space like the one Blair stood outside of, but, if this septuagenarian had her way, would never be able to enter.
Open this door, you insufferable reject! Blair’s thoughts burned as she offered a polite nod to Cath’s elderly assistant.
The old woman smiled. “She’s on a call, dear. It’ll be just a moment. But it looks like you have a visitor yourself.” She tilted her chin in the direction of the sharp, clicking footsteps closing in on Blair.
Before Blair could make up an excuse to come back later or break down the door herself, the footsteps halted, and a booming voice struck Blair’s back like a battering ram.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Blair Scott. A meeting with your mommy bring you down to the ninth floor? Is baby brother in there too? A little Scott family get together on Key Corp hours?”
Blair’s teeth scraped together as she turned and lowered her gaze to meet the man. “Preston, it is so nice to see you.”
It doesn’t get blacker than that.
Preston�
��s strong jaw twitched. “That’s Council Leader Darby, Blair. Council. Leader. Darby.” He thrust his coffee mug for emphasis. Brown droplets sloshed onto the pristine floor. “I worked hard for the title.”
Blair tightened the corners of her snarl into a broad smile. If Preston Darby had ever worked for anything, Blair wasn’t quite sure what it had been. All he had to do to attain his title was draw breath and walk around Westfall as a more handsome, clone-like version of his father, who had been Council Leader until his untimely death.
Preston clicked the heels of his shiny black boots and nodded over his shoulder at the glass-encased audience staring wide eyed at the scene unfolding outside Dr. Cath Scott’s door. The list of people who could admonish Blair was a short one, and Preston Darby was near the top. “Wouldn’t want the masses to think the Council has gone soft.”
“Soft, you? Never. I’m sure you’re hard in every way that matters, Council Leader Darby.”
“Well, I, uh . . .” He cleared his throat and took a quick drink.
Getting a reaction from Preston Darby had always been easy. So easy that it hadn’t been fun since he’d dissolved into a mushy bag of snot and tears during their final year of schooling. That last semester had shone a spotlight on Blair. The corporation had been correct when they’d chosen her for leadership training. Blair had been named the Key’s student body liaison and, in all of her correspondence with the corporation, he’d been listed as Preston Derpy. It hadn’t even been Blair’s mistake. It had been their virtual assistant’s. Blair just didn’t correct it.
The door slid open behind her and Cath’s crone assistant made a small coughing noise. “You can go in now, Ms. Scott.”
Blair nodded. The assistant’s timing had been perfect. Perhaps Blair should learn her name . . . “If you’ll excuse me, Council Leader, I have a meeting to—”
“I saw your broadcast,” he boomed with another surge of his mug. “It was—” He paused, tilting his head from side to side as if weighing his words. “Let’s just say you can tell it was your first time. But don’t worry, Blair. Practice makes perfect.” He took another drink, the corners of his lips curving into a grin around the mug’s black rim.
Heat painted Blair’s stomach. Derpy was upping his game.
Blair scanned the sets of eyes patiently peering from their glass boxes. She could practically feel gossip churning inside them. Did you hear what the Council Leader said to Ms. Scott? No one talks to her like that. And then she ran away to her mom’s office!
That couldn’t be the office chatter. It wouldn’t be. Blair slid her tongue across her lips.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Council Leader. I was taken aback by your gorgeous shoes.” She pressed her hand against her chest and peered inquisitively down at Preston’s petite feet. “It’s about time a designer came out with a line of heels for men.”
Now that would make for some excellent office goss.
Coffee sloshed to the tiled floor as Preston whipped around toward the bubbles of laughter erupting from the glass boxes behind him.
Blair’s prey was wounded, but she needed Council Leader Preston Darby dead. Figuratively, of course. “They’re beautiful, Council Leader, just beautiful.” Blair squatted as much as her slim skirt allowed. “Is that a two-inch lift? I’ll have to see if they have them in my size.”
Preston’s face lit up stoplight red. “This is the last time you make a fool of me.” More coffee leapt from his mug as he clicked off toward the elevators.
Blair smoothed out her skirt, nodded at Cath’s assistant, and strode into her adoptive mother’s office. A chorus of laughter erupted as the door slid closed behind her.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Blair.” Cath tapped her pursed lips with her index finger, her perfectly manicured Key Corp–red nails in stark contrast against her pale lips and white desk.
Blair waved away the comment. “Preston deserved it.” She fluffed her wild curls over her shoulder. “I don’t know who that short little gnome thought he was talking to.”
Cath hid her smile behind her fingertips. “He can make your life more difficult. And Denny’s.”
Blair snorted. If Preston Darby dared to mess with her brother, she’d have his tiny feet stuffed and mounted.
Cath chuckled lightly. “Short little gnome . . .”
Blair ran her fingers over the cracked spines of the reference books lining Cath’s bookshelves. “Did you happen to see my broadcast?” Blair pressed each word against the back of her teeth, forcing them out slowly, subtly, as if that one question hadn’t been the reason for her visit. “I feel like it went okay,” she continued, strangling her footsteps the same way she choked her words, with practiced ease. “I didn’t have a prompter or anything. There wasn’t time. But I guess that is the nature of an emergency. I ended up having to wing it.” She came to the end of the bookshelf and flicked an invisible speck of link from her fingertips before making her way to Cath’s desk. “Any thoughts?”
Blair clamped her mouth shut as anxiety clacked her teeth together. If she could reach inside herself and punish her nerves, she would. She hated the way they popped beneath her skin, the pressure building until she felt like she might explode if she didn’t vent. And her current go-to was Cath. Who was she kidding? Her go-to was always Cath. It had been since Blair had turned thirteen. Since her parents—
Blair shook her head. There was no point in thinking about the past. She wasn’t there. She was here. She was now. “The whole time I was up there I was thinking about what you would have said and what I as a citizen would have wanted to hear from you, a Key representative. No one helped me. My assistant pulled me out of my meeting, gave me bullet points, and next thing I knew there was a camera in my face.”
Cath patted her desk. “Sit. Relax.” She smoothed out the crisp sleeves of her blouse. “You did fine.”
Blair slid into one of the uncomfortable chairs facing Cath’s desk. “Just fine? I suppose my inflection was a little off . . . Like I said, I didn’t have time to prepare.”
A soft grin creased the corners of Cath’s warm brown eyes. “You delivered the message well. It was clear and concise.”
A compliment, but not exactly what Blair was looking for. She forced her spine straight even though every ounce of her deflated. “The whole point was to try and make the citizens feel like we’re on the same team. Like they can trust the Key and, by extension, they can trust me.”
Cath gently folded her slender arms across her desk. “I thought the point was to let citizens know that the city is safe, and that they don’t have to worry about infection or about Eos.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, yes, of course. That was definitely the main point. That goes without saying.”
Black.
Cath cocked her head. “You were told that the city is safe now, weren’t you?”
Did Cath not know for sure? Or was this a test? What if Cath was fishing? What if the powers that be had given Cath information they hadn’t given Blair? Or what if they had told Blair something they hadn’t told Cath? Maybe the corporation was trying to pit them against one another since a new position was opening up soon. Maybe they wanted to see if Blair was able to keep from spilling Key secrets to a person as close to her as Cath.
Well, Blair had never failed a test before, and she wasn’t about to start now.
With deliberate absentmindedness, Blair brushed back a few curls that had freed themselves in front of her eyes. “I hear Holbrook is being put down. That’ll mean his MediCenter Director title will be up for grabs.”
Cath’s gaze fell to her hands. “I can’t imagine what he’s going through. Having the date of your death set, each second ticking by, bringing you closer to the end.” She shook her head. “His heart has been bad for a while, but the whole thing is . . . sad.” Her eyes glistened when she finally looked up.
Cath cared so much.
Blair needed to try to care more too. It might make people warm up to her, and it would be easier to do her job if her employees’ loyalty rested on the fact that they truly liked her.
Blair slumped her shoulders slightly, a mirror image of Cath’s sadness. “Mrs. Holbrook is probably broken up about it.”
“I’ve spoken with her. She understands that it’s time, but that doesn’t make it any easier. To survive the virus just to be put down fifty years later . . .” Cath plucked at the air with her fingers as her thoughts swallowed her.
Blair studied the ragged edges of her nails. She should contact the old bag’s wife; she was on the MediCenter board, and if Blair had any hope of being nominated for Director Holbrook’s job after they finally put him down, she needed to make nice with whomever she could.
Message to Maxine. Blair thought, blinking long and slow. When her lids lifted, the transparent gray messaging box appeared, only slightly blurring the vision in her left eye. Find Holbrook’s address and send his wife whatever I’m expected to send to a person whose husband is on the bullet train toward death. The bold text appeared as quickly as she thought it, and sent just as fast.
“Blair, you should come too.”
“Sorry, I can’t.” She’d missed what Cath had been saying, but she knew without hearing it that she didn’t want to attend. She loved Cath, but she didn’t particularly like spending time with her. Cath was always doing things that bordered on strange. Okay, to be honest, they were frickin’ weird. Canoeing and running and hiking all out in the real world like some kind of Zone Six dip who couldn’t afford a new VR kit. It was gross.
Cath frowned. “He’s the director of the MediCenter. You really should make time to come to his funeral. Everyone will be there sharing stories, memories. If it makes you feel better, we can go together. I know it would be easier for me if I had you by my side.”
Blair sucked in a breath and nodded. “Oh, the funeral. Yes, I’m definitely attending. And we should go together.” If what Cath said was true, and everyone really was going to be there, it would only make Blair look better to arrive with the ever-popular Dr. Cath Scott.
